


To Wave Away Past Arms

by Zee (orphan_account)



Category: Batman (Comics), Superman (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-13
Updated: 2006-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim is coping. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Wave Away Past Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place post-War Games and shortly after the Fresh Blood crossover. Thanks to Petronelle for the beta and encouragement.

The mugger's voice is ragged, loud and paranoid; he's also moving strangely, swaying on his feet. Tim guesses that he's under the influence of... something. Not alcohol. It will make him easier to take down, but could also make him prone to shooting that gun sooner. As it is, he's pointing the gun awfully close to the face of the man working the cash register, and his shouting is just getting louder.

Tim is dressed in civvies. If he takes a few steps back, the angle will be such that no one will be able to see him throw a can of soup and knock the mugger out. Now if he can just move without attracting the man's attention--

A blur of red and blue and the mugger is unconscious, dangling from Superman's hand as he crunches the gun into a small ball in his other fist. Tim puts down the can of minestrone soup.

The crowd flocks to him, murmuring praise and thanks, and someone has the foresight to clap a pair of handcuffs on the mugger. (Why Superman doesn't carry zip strips, Tim couldn't guess; maybe he prefers makeshift cuffs made from bent light-posts.) Superman smiles and nods and says the right words like any celebrity, and then he meets Tim's eyes and says, "Are you all right, young man?"

Tim gives him the most innocuous smile he can manage. "I'm super." 

Superman beams at him, knowing that Tim will catch that he wants to roll his eyes instead, and then he's gone.

Outside the store, Clark Kent jogs to catch up with him. "There you are. I was hoping I could catch a minute of your spare time today, you know, to catch up." He smiles at Tim, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I haven't seen you in a while."

Tim keeps walking. "If I didn't know it was useless, I'd tell you not to talk to me when I'm in civilian guise."

Clark actually pats his shoulder. "I was merely checking on the state of a local boy who looked frazzled by the events. Nothing that could connect to your other job."

"You are aware that a villain in this city spent several billion dollars learning Nightwing's identity and used it to effectively destroy him not too long ago?" Clark actually flinches, and Tim smiles. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you, Clark."

"You have a point. My sincere apologies." Clark's hand is back again, this time on his arm, steering him. "Now let's grab a cup of coffee together."

Tim would protest if he had anything like a choice in the matter. As it is, he gives his best apathetic-teenager shrug and follows Clark inside.

And. This is the cafe where Cass comes almost every afternoon--the barista here knows her face, if not her name. Clark knew that, of course. Tim is already getting tired of the man's unsubtle manipulations, and they haven't even sat down to chat yet.

He glares at the back of Clark's head as he orders a decaf chai latte, and orders a dry cappuccino for himself. The barista grins and winks at him, and it takes Tim a moment to realize she's flirting; by that time, she's already disappeared behind the espresso machines. Tim goes to sit down across from Clark. The table between them is tiny and artsy, rust-colored metal decorated in some kind of wannabe-mosaic pattern.

"Cass is working a case that's taken her back to Gotham this weekend," he says before Clark can speak. "We won't run into her here."

Clark hides his disappointment well. "Ah. Well, I suppose I'll have to wait for a chance to talk to her, then."

The barista brings over his cappuccino, and Tim licks idly at the foam. "You think I've been avoiding her."

When he glances up from his drink, Clark's eyebrow is raised. "And you haven't been?"

"We tried working together. We were even successful at it, but... it wasn't the best thing for either of us. She has her side of the city, I have mine. It's an arrangement we both agree on."

Clark's smile is big and entirely ingenuous until you look closer. "Heaven forbid I criticize your arrangements. I'm sure they're for the best."

Tim does not glare at him. He scoops out the foam with a spoon, instead. "They work, for both of us. Cass is doing well."

"Yes, the crime rate in her sector of the city has dropped significantly, I've noticed. I wonder how her barista friend would say she's been doing?"

Tim does *not* glare. "Neither of us need keepers. If that's why you're here--"

"It's not." Clark's voice is gentle, and Tim belatedly realizes that his shoulders have tensed up. He drinks his cappuccino and makes himself relax. "I just know that it's been a very long time since we had a chance to talk like this."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "You're not obligated to fill out some quota of time with me, Clark." Clark isn't his father, after all. This whole conversation is making Tim wonder if this is how Kon feels, sitting through meals with the Kents and baseball games with Clark, as he tries to figure out how to bond.

"I'm well aware of that." Clark's voice is frustrated. Tim smiles. "All I'm trying to do here is check up on a friend, make sure you're all right. And I know you think your acting skills are legendary, but I have to say that 'all right' is not the impression I'm getting."

Tim licks foam off his upper lip. "I guess I can't control whatever impressions you get. But I'm doing fine, Clark. Really."

Clark studies him, then looks down at his own drink. "Losing a parent is awful," he says, slowly. "To lose your father so soon after losing a girl you loved--I don't pretend to know what you're going through, Tim. But I--do wish you'd let me help in some way." 

Clark's smile is slightly bitter, and he's meeting Tim's eyes now. The glasses don't actually do much to hide his face: all they do is muddy the startling, inhuman sharp blue of his eyes, deflect it behind glass. Tim supposes that, for some people, that is enough.

Tim takes a breath. "You can. I mean. You are helping." He glances down at his cappuccino. It's growing cold, and he doesn't need the caffeine, anyway. "Come outside with me?"

Clark frowns at him, but Tim hasn't given him enough of a reason to be suspicious. Yet. "Okay." 

Tim stands up and heads out to the alley next to the cafe; Clark takes a moment to leave a tip (even though tipping is unusual for this establishment), then follows. 

"Tim, what--" Tim doesn't let Clark finish his sentence. He stands on his tiptoes and kisses Clark, licking at his lips and curling his hand around the back of Clark's head. It only takes a moment for Clark to respond, opening his mouth and pulling Tim closer, making a soft sound in the back of his throat.

And then, predictably, he pulls away, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. "Oh--no. This isn't--I can't--"

Tim licks his lips. Clark's cheeks are flushed and his glasses are askew. He puts a hand on Clark's chest and slides it lower, over the twitching muscles of Clark's abdomen. "Please," he says, his voice rough, wavering. "Superman, I--" He buries his face against Clark's neck, breathing in and nuzzling. Lets himself clutch at Clark, cling to him, and it doesn't come as a surprise when Clark melts against him.

"Robin." Tim can feel Clark's voice vibrating in his chest, his throat. Clark's hands on his back, petting. "This isn't the way...."

"I don't care." Tim lets his voice be fierce, angry, and kisses Clark again. Rubs up against him, and Clark doesn't do anything but whimper softly when he feels Tim's erection.

"Tim, jesus--" Clark is trying to make his kisses gentle, his touches innocent. Tim bites at his lips, his tongue.

"Clark, I *need* this--"

The best lies are half-truths. Clark groans and whirls, pushing Tim hard against the alley wall. Suddenly he's fierce, sucking on Tim's tongue and pushing up Tim's t-shirt, his thumbnail scratching Tim's nipple. Tim gasps and Clark moves his focus to Tim's neck, sucking and licking underneath the line of his jaw. Tim whimpers and bucks when Clark's hand moves down his pants, and all it takes is another "*Please,*" for Clark to slide to his knees.

Clark sucks him like someone who's holding back vast amounts of his strength, yet still makes Tim's knees buckle. Tim has to brace himself against the wall, and Clark doesn't even give him that--his hands are on Tim's ass, holding him and urging him forward, in and out of Clark's mouth. When Tim looks down Clark's eyes are closed, squeezed shut; his cheeks are hollowed and he looks focused in a way that's actually mildly terrifying.

Tim jerks forward helplessly, his hands in Clark's hair because he needs to hold on to *something.* Clark's tongue is lapping at him, up and down the shaft of his cock and then down to his balls, and Tim can feel the slide of Clark's cheek against him. Then Clark sucks him in again, and it's nothing but the hot wet rhythmic pressure of Clark's mouth, almost more than Tim can stand. He closes his eyes and lets the orgasm shake through him, slumping against the wall when it's over.

Clark puts him down and stands, nuzzles Tim's mouth. "Robin, oh..." 

He's shaking more than Tim is, and Tim works his fly open, ignoring Clark's vague "Oh, you don't have to"s.

Clark's cock is big and heavy in Tim's palm, and it takes a moment to find a good rhythm. Clark moans and presses his face against Tim's neck when he does, and even though there's no way Tim can jerk him off with the strength he probably needs, Clark comes for him anyway, shaking harder and clutching at Tim's shoulders.

Tim removes his hand and after a moment, Clark stands up, flushed red. When he sees Tim's sticky hand, he offers him a handkerchief from his back pocket.

"Thanks." Tim wipes off his hand, his stomach lurching slightly when he notices the monogrammed L.L. on the corners. He tosses the handkerchief into the nearest trash can.

"Tim...." Clark's hand is squeezing Tim's shoulder, and Tim holds back a cringe. He makes himself meet Clark's eyes.

Clark's eyes are narrowed. "You know, you're not as clever as you think you are."

Tim blinks at that. "I--"

But Clark is gone. In the distance, Tim sees a red and blue blur take to the sky. Tim frowns and rubs his hand against his jeans, even though it's already clean.

It's getting dark, and he's in the wrong part of town. He ducks his head and heads back to his apartment to put on the suit.


End file.
